The Duplicity of Nature
by swift hunter
Summary: Late G1: AU. Something has happened on Charr. A decision has been made and it's consequences will be felt across the Universe. A word of caution regarding plans derived by the insane.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. I never will. I do own my OC's. The only one in this chapter is Mimic.

AN: This is mainly G1. I've added a few things. Like characters that should be dead that I just had to keep alive for plot purposes (that and I love them dearly). I've thrown in an explanation for Starscream, because, let's face it, not getting vaporized needs a bit of explaining. So, this is a warning. This is AU. Very freaking AU.

Rating: This chapter is rated for some transformer cursing and that's about it. The rating will go up as the story progresses. Each chapter will contain it's own rating.

* * *

Rain pounded the planet surface, winds howled and lightning struck with devastating effect, splintering alien trees and scorching rock. Native animals skittered about in the desolate mud and cold, frantically searching for any form of shelter from the downpour that threatened their survival.

Two sets of foreign optics looked down upon the vast expanse of alien life with little more than repulsion and distain.

"Remind me again, why the _Pit_ we're out in this slagging weather, on _this_ Primus forsaken mud ball? I swear, if I can't clean this crap outta my joints…. I'm gonna slag you_ myself_, Starscream. I promise you that Galvatron won't get the opportunity. So come on, enlighten me, oh _brilliant one_, why am I rusting my aft off out here, hmm?"

The blue seeker visibly shuddered thinking about all the rancid fluid and organic life that was presently lodging in his joints and clogging his gears. Not to mention the steady barrage of rain that beat against his outer armour, producing the most horrendous of noises. The sound was so deafening that he'd missed a lot of the conversation's beginning, simply trying to tune his audio receptors around all the abhorrent clatter.

Starscream stepped up beside him but never shifted his frontward gaze. Nor did he blanch at the indignantly blunt threat that his comrade, and fellow seeker, issued. The weather and the alien life didn't bother him. Back when he'd been a scientist, he'd catalogued far worse places to be, even with the present planet's volatile weather system. Starscream was in fact very glad that the nearest planet to the base was void of tar. Now _that_ could clog you in places best never mentioned in public. What truly bothered Starscream was the concept of a spy intercepting the conversation that was presently taking place. The violent storm battering the tiny mud ball not only left the atmosphere charged, which interfered with any ships scans and sensors, but the darkness obscured them from sight and sideways rain was enough to permeate even the most sophisticated cloaking technology. He could be absolutely certain that at this moment, no one, absolutely _no one_ was listening in. If there was a tiny, miniscule, unfathomably microscopic chance that Galvatron _somehow_ got hold of this conversation, Starscream knew that the murderous glitch would redefine his very concept of the word 'pain'.

Starscream sighed; ventilation systems blowing soggy leaves out his secondary exhaust vents.

"Thundercracker, we're here because if Galvatron finds out I've let you in on this little _scheme_…" It was abundantly clear that Starscream meant 'crazy-never gonna work-very suicidal plan' when he mentioned the inexcusably loose term. "...of his, then he will _personally_ tear us new spark chambers. Out here we can be sure that nothing will be overheard and our afts will remain dent free. Dent free for the time being, anyway."

Thundercracker's left optic flickered briefly as a wave of repressed annoyance flashed through his cortex. _You always gotta drag me into this._ He thought.

"So, exactly why are we out here if Galvatron's gonna frag us? And we both know he'll find out eventually. He _always_ does" It was oddly true. It was Thundercracker's belief that insanity brought insight. Galvatron was very rarely wrong about in-house plotting, though it made sense. He couldn't have remained the Decepticon leader, simply by turning a blind eye to that line of independent thought. He continued on. "…and _when_ he does, _Air Commander_, exactly how much of the blame is gonna sear my tailpipe?" He resentfully questioned.

Starscream huffed at his fellow seeker's tone.

"It won't come to that." He barked. "By the time he does discover our deception, he'll thank us for our foresight."

Thundercracker visibly twitched, _Yeah, right, thank us?_

The seeker despite himself, decided to hear Starscream out. If anything, Starscream had enough frag worthy intelligence on him, that if he went down, he'd make sure he took his wing-mate with him in his fall from grace. Thundercracker knew how vindictive Screamer could get and Primus only knew what their esteemed and mighty leader would do to him, should he happen to discover that the laser rifle that almost blasted the old glitch a new exhaust, not a few orns past, had actually belonged to him. That in the midst of battle he'd _dropped_ his _rifle_. Only made worse when a certain gold coloured, somewhat sociopathic Autobot picked it up and turned it on their illustrious Decepticon leader. _That_ battle had almost truly ended in utter ruin.

Thundercracker whined at the various images of torture his mind began conjuring up. Utterly distraught, he inhaled a large quantity of chill air to cool his systems. He realized that no matter what Starscream came up with, he'd be convinced to help him in the end just to prevent information like that from reaching the audios of Galvatron. Thundercracker sighed, utterly disheartened.

"So… Screamer. Why's Mimic got your servos in a slagging twist?"

Thundercracker vaguely remembered the femme raiding Starscream's lab and 'borrowing' some equipment. That hadn't gone down well with Starscream. Not one tiny, teeny bit. Since then, Starscream's usual list of complaints had drastically changed from ninety percent, 'Galvatron is glitched' and ten percent, 'you're all absolutely incompetent' to pretty much 'I want that femme drawn and quartered'. Starscream's usual hostility not withstanding, he seemed to be taking a real dislike to her.

Either that or he was head over heels, wildly in love with her.

Nah. No one could _love_ Mimic, not without needing a total core defragmentation.

That and Thundercracker wagered both Starscream and Galvatron suffered with _the_ most severe cases of narcissism ever seen. The mechs in question couldn't possibly love anything, what with being so in love with themselves and their pretty, shiny reflections to notice the Universe collapse around their thick, hollow helms.

Thundercracker could have laughed but he feared he'd fall into hysterics and something gross and…ewww… _organic_ would blow down his gullet in this storm. If that happened, he'd need to purge a cycles worth of energon and he was certain the low-grade slag that they were rationed with would taste as foul coming up, as it did going down. No thanks.

Starscream turned to face his fellow seeker. It was only now that Thundercracker saw the nervous tension in his facial plates and the trademark scowl that seemed to have deepened, sufficiently enough to remind him of Galvatron with squishy bits caught between the grooves on his feet. The previous notion of accidental laughter died a rather swift death with the hard look that had settled in Starscream's optics.

"Mimic can't be trusted." Starscream firmly reasoned, as though that in itself was the source of his disquiet.

Thundercracker sent his very best _'And?_' glare in Starscream's direction. They both knew that half the Cons on base would cut your energon lines during recharge, if it were of any benefit to them. That wasn't the reason for his dislike or this prematurely doomed conversation and Thundercracker knew it. Starscream was holding something back.

The unimpressed seeker waited for further elaboration and Starscream eagerly obliged, spewing his paranoid theories like bad high-grade at a Decepticon victory celebration. Rare as they were, these days.

"There's no record of her in any of the archives. I mean nothing. How she managed to survive as it is, is completely beyond me what with Shockwave's stupid stunt. It's like she never existed. And she just waltzes up out of nowhere and joins us. " Starscream's fists clenched and shook with tremors. "... I _know_ she's using him. I_ know it_. I'll never understand why that glitched fragger didn't scrap her when she first arrived. Having her here is pointless. She's beyond insane. _Scientist?_ If she's a scientist then Galvatron really _does_ have a boron compressor!!!"

Thundercracker bristled, clearly impatient with the progress of the conversation.

"So what? The same can be said for you! Primus, what about Soundwave….or _Cyclonus?_ Half of our forces are comprised of cutthroats, thieves and general slag-you-in-your-sleep buckets of slimy, greasy, fraggin', half-processor glitchbags. Why the _frag_ should she be _any_ different?" Thundercracker paused a moment to collect himself before he continued. "So…she changed her name. Got an upgrade. It happens. Some of us weren't _always_ Decepticons. And just because you'd never heard of her doesn't mean she wasn't a scientist."

The blue seeker scowled momentarily as he realized he'd made an error in his lengthy rant. It was one of their rules-his seeker comrades and himself-that nobody was to ever mention pre-war Cybertron and their past lives in front of Starscream. Said ex-scientist made it his duty to remind them of how_ renowned_ he was and how respected.

Thundercracker hoped to Primus that Starscream was too agitated by the situation to launch into one of his patented 'I was a famous and very self important egotistical scientist' speeches. Starscream never actually used those exact words, but every time he talked about his pre-war life, that's all that any of them could hear. Thundercracker silently prayed. _No nostalgia, dear Primus, please, NO NOSTALGIA._

Primus seemed to answer Thundercracker's silent plea and to the seeker's relief, Starscream didn't take the opportunity to burst into a self-important rant. Instead his voice seemed to gain in pitch; or as Skywarp dubbed it, his 'whiny voice'.

"Will you shut up and _listen_, you dolt? Galvatron is sending her on a covert mission. She hasn't been here a fragging _vorn_ and he's committing nearly half of our resources just to get her into Autobot city." Thundercracker could have sworn he heard a twinge of jealousy there. "What one, single Femme can do, I've no idea, but bringing down Autobot city isn't one of them. This is gonna be _disastrous_ for us."

Thundercracker began processing all this new information and mentally translating the 'disastrous for us' to a 'disastrous for me'. His processors choked on one indigestible detail.

"Screamer…exactly what resources is Galvatron 'committing' to this?"

Starscream almost smirked. Correction, Starscream _did_ smirk. Thundercracker had his moments of intelligence but this time must not have been one of them.

"That…would be _us_, Thundercracker."

The Decepticon seeker's face fell in nothing short of absolute horror.

"Frag that!!! The automated defences will pick us out of the sky!! Is he _insane_?" Thundercracker shrieked.

Starscream fixed his wing mate with a cold, hard stare. Thundercracker sighed and tilted his head skyward; rain and leaves plastering his face.

"You know, on second thought, don't even answer that last question."

* * *

"Do you swear loyalty to me… to the Decepticon cause… and to the complete annihilation of all Autobot scum and their _Leader_, Optimus Prime?"

Galvatron enunciated every word slowly, his optics scrutinizing the facial expressions of the Femme, Mimic as he watched every word fall on her processor like a hammer to an anvil. His voice echoed across the enormous expanse and reverberated off the cold, dull walls. The silence between words was deadly. It was clear that he was looking for any signs of deceit. Being the master of lies, deception, was one thing that Galvatron picked up on like a bad odour.

The usually bustling throne room was now completely empty save for the slowly maddening Decepticon Leader, the Femme, Mimic and Starscream. The details of this grand scheme were to remain utterly and completely secret. But for all intensive purposes, Galvatron needed Starscream's skills and full cooperation, not to mention his fellow seekers, _if_ the plan was to succeed. The Decepticon Leader knew from past errors that his Air Commander needed firm guidance and instruction, less he fall victim to his own initiative and screw up plans at the worst possible moment. One would laugh at the misfortune of the seeker's plots, had it not happened too many times to count and cost the Decepticons defeat after humiliating defeat. The time would come when Starscream would cease to be an asset. Just one failure too many and he would need to be dealt with. In part, Galvatron felt it his own fault that Starscream's ego had grown to the size it was now.

He should have cut the slagger down eons ago.

In fact, he was beginning to regret not vaporizing the molten heap of low-grade slag after Unicron had remade him (and several hundred times previously). He'd had the perfect opportunity and justification, not that he needed to justify anything, when he'd found Starscream literally crowning himself ruler. The traitorous glitch had had the nerve to jettison him into deep space and for that he'd beaten Starscream to within a parsec of termination and told him that he'd live to regret his betrayal. Starscream had been left as Air Commander but was stripped of his rank as second in command. He'd kept Starscream in charge of the Seekers knowing the almost _human_ twitchiness of the airborne nutcases. They responded well to Starscream and might not take it too lightly if he was removed, at least until Galvatron could _acquire_ a new replacement. The data recovered from this mission might provide him with some _other_ options.

Silence followed Galvatron's speech like a viper; poisonous, lethal and patiently waiting to strike down the Femme. Starscream shifted ever so slightly in the awkward moments. Unlike most of the Decepticons, those who would answer 'yes' without a second thought as to what was being asked, Mimic weighed every word that had been spoken. So careful was her consideration that she let the pregnant pause continue for what seemed like several astro seconds. When she finally did speak, it was clear that she'd chosen her own words very cautiously, arrogantly aware of the major pit falls when addressing Galvatron.

"I hereby swear allegiance to the mighty Decepticon Leader, Lord Galvatron. I pledge my services to the Decepticon Empire and I swear to rid the Universe of every last Autobot."

There was no emotion, no sarcasm and worst of all, there was no trace of a lie. Disappointment was practically engraved onto the face of the Seeker standing watch. He looked as though he'd never be pleased again. Galvatron visibly noticed this and a strangely amused light, glinted faintly in his optics.

Satisfied with the pledge, Galvatron and the femme started to iron out the details of this plan. Both appeared completely oblivious to Starscream's presence.

"You've been in possession of both the city schematics and the personal medical files for nearly an orn now, I trust that everything is in place and _on time_?" Galvatron questioned. He emphasized the 'on time' part. He'd little to no experience dealing with punctual scientists.

Mimic locked optics with the leader and nodded her head once before confirming it with her aggravatingly grating voice. It was one of the things that put her creepy level on par with Soundwave's. That voice. That hideous, gravely voice. It was like someone had clogged her vocalizer with sand and rock and left them to grind while she spoke. And she chose the way it sounded. She could sound like anyone she wanted. She must have known the way it irritated them.

"Yes, my Lord. Everything is prepared."

No grovelling, no emotion. Almost vaguely disinterested. It appeared to be her typical, average state of being. As far as anyone could tell, she wasn't attached to anything. Not even her laboratory creations.

Starscream shuddered in revulsion at the thought of those things she kept locked in her lab. Those monsters were hideous, _disgusting_ and utterly _**vile.**_ He'd have preferred to stay on that miserable jungle planet rather than drag his aft back to Charr and the thought of staying on base with those _things._

He felt something cold sliver up underneath his armour; an invisible crawling thing that touched sensitive wires and nerves, making him shudder. He pushed the images of Mimic's creations out of mind.

He pondered Mimic, herself, for a moment.

There was something very wrong about her. A few others had spoken about it in hushed whispers, just generally freaked by her mere proximity but unsure why. She was just wrong. The way she looked. The way she acted. She frightened a lot of the weaker Decepticon soldiers with her rather disturbing appearance but only a few of the senior members knew the chilling quirks of her personality. It's a widely known fact that there are few things that Decepticons wouldn't be willing to do to achieve victory, but she pushed those limits daily. One of her ideas consisted of nanites programmed to devour Cybertronians from the inside. Everyone thought it a good idea until one lowly mech asked how the nanites would be made to distinguish bewteen Autobot and Decepticon. Her answer frightened Starscream and even Cyclonus had looked horrified. The truth was that nanites wouldn't be able to. They were too small to be programmed with identification software. She was suggesting unleashing a plague that would have, more than likely, gruesomely murdered every Cybertronian in the Galaxy. She _theorized_ that she could have come up with a vaccine, but not even Galvatron was willing to put that to the test. Frankly, her ideas were monstrous. Her _methods_ were monstrous. It was a silent agreement between the most senior of Decepticons that they would keep her projects absolutely quiet. As nasty as most Decepticons were, it was best they not know what she got up to on her spare time.

He'd especially kept the more barbaric details from the other seekers. The sight of her pulling the wings off a Decepticon corpse would forever haunt his recharge. He didn't care if it was for research, as she'd loosely claimed at the time. The other seekers would kill her if they ever found out about her desecration of a wing-mate and Galvatron would blame_ him_ for it. Besides, the likes of Thundercracker and Skywarp, to name but a small few of the many seekers, had long since become disillusioned with the Decepticon cause.

Countless millennia of war had robbed the Decepticons of their great tacticians, their pride and in rare cases, their sanity. The knowledge of Mimic's various attempts to destroy the very concept of morality would strip the Decepticons of the few remaining intelligent warriors.

Honestly, she scared him on a level that he'd previously not known existed. Galvatron would torture but he'd always kill you in the end. It was inevitable really. Mimic had made devices that could keep a Cybertronian conscious and alive, indefinitely. No matter what you did to their body. No matter what cruelties you inflicted and how much pain you caused them, death just wouldn't come for them and they'd feel _everything_. Galvatron would always kill in the end. In a way it was a relief to know. He killed, perhaps not out of any mercy, but certainly he didn't have the spark or patience for such practices.

Mimic, on the other hand, might not even think about killing a captive, and _that_ worried Starscream. As much as the thought that Galvatron might have only kept her alive to keep the others in line. As previously established, the Decepticons were beginning their crumble from power. However, if you thought that Galvatron would give you to her to play with, you'd easily endure a couple more vorns at least.

Starscream's energon stalled as his pump missed a beat. _Is this what it's come to?_

A voice in Starscream's head answered his question and offered him a glimpse of the only possible outcomes the Decepticons would ever achieve in this war.

They would fall, hated and blamed for the degradation of all of Cybertron…or they'd make sure everything fell with them.

At one time, that would have been acceptable to him, but that was a long time ago now. It was a time when the lines between Decepticon and Autobot were clear: the strong warrior Decepticons against the weak civilian Autobots. Optimus Prime verses Megatron. It had all seemed so eerily simple for him to choose back then, but after the death of Optimus Prime these imaginary lines in the sand had become blurred beyond almost any recognition. So many Decepticons had originally joined because they'd felt Optimus an unsuitably weak leader. Too soft. Too out of touch. That had changed with Rodimus Prime. Possibly the youngest Prime recorded and by Primus could he be ruthless when pushed. Optimus had been ever the Diplomat. He'd remained a beacon of understanding and a symbol of all things noble and good, even up until today.

Optimus had waved the olive branch in the faces of the Decepticons for so long that when Rodimus Prime launched his first and only assault on their largest and central base, he'd sent them scurrying out of sensor range like frightened glitch-mice. Rodimus had never shown an ounce of cruelty against any Decepticon prisoners. They were treated fairly and with dignity but he'd made it abundantly clear that his new leadership wasn't weak…and that he was no Optimus Prime.

The Autobots had never hated the Decepticons like they did the day Optimus passed and over the years the new Prime had channeled that hatred into turning the tide of war. These days, if you looked close enough you would see Autobots tear into Decepticons like Sharkticons. Years of hate and hurt having twisted once passive, peaceful mechs into merciless killers. You only had to observe the new brutal tactics to know that, truthfully, war had made monsters of everyone. Yes, the lines were well and truly blurred beyond imagining now.

Something clicked within the femme and the resulting noise startled Starscream out of his congregation of thoughts.

He'd not been paying attention to what was being said but Mimic's affirmation brought the strangest smile to Galvatron's face. Whatever had Galvatron smiling, couldn't have been good.

There was that clicking noise again and Mimic, dare he even think such thoughts, looked not at all pleased about it. She was…restless was the best way to describe it. Glitched would be another.

He still hadn't the faintest idea why she'd joined the Decepticons. If he'd hoped to glean information on her purposes, then he'd failed magnificently. The questions surrounding her and her goals were endless and as of yet, unknown. For one thing, she'd joined the Decepticons claiming to oppose all of Prime's ideals despite glaring gaps in her knowledge. If she were asked, and forced to answer, he doubted she could name more then a handful of Autobots.

Truthfully, this femme had as much enthusiasm for their _whole cause_, as Galvatron had for kindling a friendship with the Prime himself. _Why is she here? What's she after?_ He was certain that the femme looked down on their ideals.

Starscream shifted his weight a little more. Pain was flaring up his right side through some half repaired gears and one or two rushed patch jobs. He hoped that this would end soon. Hoped and prayed.

By the time the unforgivably long and arduous meeting finally neared its end, he'd heard the plan be taken apart by Galvatron and Mimic, time and time again. They put it back together so many times that the seeker was almost convinced it would work. He realized that the human's were right in one respect. If you hear the same thing enough times, you actually _will_ start to believe it.

Finally, Galvatron ended the formal section of the meeting with a wave of his hand and Mimic slowly rose. She stretched stiffly as her unusually heavy frame straightened out in a series of whines and groans that sounded altogether unpleasant.

Apart from a slight likeness to an Autobot _bitch_, also known as Road Rage and generally referred to-by the Decepticon ground troops- as the second most psychotic and violent Autobot in the known Universe (only upstaged by Autobot 'Don't call him Sunny' Sunstreaker), Mimic had the typical streamline features that all femmes possessed. Of course she_ had_ to segment herself from every Cybertronian by adopting the most dull and depressing, glossless ash colour paint job ever seen on any self respecting mech. Her armour also had noticeable gaps exposing the wiring and sensitive cables and joints. That openly freaked a lot of Decepticons out. It was like walking around with some of your insides exposed.

She also had an aversion to handheld weaponry. Which was shocking, in all truth.

Taking all of this into account there was one pretty big problem; her altmode.

Namely, her lack of one. Well, she _did_ have the ability to transform, however, needing nearly an orn in preparation and taking almost an entire solar day to complete the transformation was not what Starscream considered a _viable_ altmode.

And she was leading some sort of crazy assault on Metroplex? Starscream allowed himself a frown whilst Mimic shielded him from Galvatron's sight.

How many times had he found himself in this position; with some crazy scheme, some unreliable scum-sack and approximately 99.999% chance of failure? He'd honestly lost count.

Starscream clenched and unclenched his fists. The only other movement he'd allow himself till Galvatron dismissed him.

Each plan seemed more insane and reckless than the last and Galvatron's moods just appeared to be becoming increasingly desperate and temperamental as time progressed, if the whole Mimic situation was any indication.

Starscream predicted that if he didn't get himself fragged in the battle, Galvatron would make him and his comrades wish that they had. Things were going to get bad…it was only really a matter of how bad things got.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. I never will. I do own my OC's, however, there won't be any appearing in this chapter.

AN: Thanks go out to my reviewers.

Rating: Rated for some curse words, mentions of death and light aft kicking.

Chapter 2

Ultra Magnus found himself drumming his fingers on his desk in rising impatience. _Forty-Five minutes late? When I get my hands on them…_

The city commander smiled manically: a crazy and somewhat far off look to his optics as he envisioned a certain pair of mechs neck deep in refuse for the next six months. If they didn't show themselves soon, he would begin to add a month to their garbage disposal duties for every _single_ minute they were late. He'd worked right through the last seven duty shifts without a break and he was dangerously low on energy. Every minute they were late, was another minute more he'd have to delay a much-needed recharge.

He was going to _personally_ stand watch over the pair and take unequalled enjoyment in their distress as they sorted several _hundred_ tons of garbage into the proper recycling alcoves. They would be _filthy._

Ultra Magnus cackled. Like some sort of crazed, lunatic, Decepticon moron, he shook violently with the strength of the rather out of place outburst. It went on for a number of minutes as his mind came up with various situations that would leave the twins dirty, tired and absolutely, unquestionably humiliated.

Someone coughed.

A rather human gesture when the source was obviously anything but. The city commander came out of his fit of temporary madness to realize that the mechs in question were standing on the other side of his desk, deeply disturbed by the scene they just witnessed. Ultra Magnus wasn't known for his giggling fits. The city commander was equally startled. _How long have they been standing there?_ Ultra Magnus regained his composure immediately and glared evenly at the duo of troublemakers.

It was the obnoxiously coloured red mech that spoke up first. A sloppy grin casually spread across his face.

"You…wanted to see us, Chief?"

Ultra Magnus responded with a grin of his own.

"I did indeed, how _kind_ of you to remember. Unfortunately, I ordered you to report to me at nine am, sharp. Do you know what time it is, soldier?" Ultra Magnus chirped.

His golden coloured comrade elbowed the red mech with a muffled whisper of 'I told you he said nine'.

His red counterpart looked sheepish.

"It's…ehh…nearly ten." He stammered.

The city commander's grin erupted into a full-scale smile.

"Ahhh, Sideswipe, you _can_ tell the time." The city commander laughed and it sent a very noticeable sliver of terror up the dermal plating of the red twin. "I was all about to forget your tardiness and send you off so First Aid could check both of your internal chronometers for malfunction. But seeing as you _can_ tell the time, it's only fair that you accept punishment for keeping me waiting a whole forty eight minutes and twenty three seconds into my _eighth __**successive**_ duty shift."

Both mechs were stunned, both at the delight that the Commander seemed to be taking in whatever punishment he'd drawn up for them and the fact that the City Commander had managed to get through seven duty shifts without First Aid officially signing papers and having Springer drag him to a recharge berth. _An absent Prime, plus upcoming treaty, equals one overworked and very insane City Commander_. The thought flickered through Sideswipes cortex. Ultra Magnus continued.

"Ahhh….now, as to the _original_ nature of this meeting. It's been brought to my attention that Windcharger, while under the influence of _your_ home brew, special batch high-grade, somehow managed to get himself _lodged _between two incomplete sections of wall that were under repairs in sector three." He sighed then, recalling how Windcharger had accidentally activated his own magnetic chargers and been subsequently dragged between the narrow opening. _Primus damned high grade._

"Unfortunately, we were unable to free him using any conventional methods, nor were we able to dismantle the wall, which Perceptor has gone and made invulnerable to all but high yield explosives." His voice lost its amusement, momentarily becoming concerned and he leaned forward as though to convey some sort of secret. "You should be aware that Wheeljack wants to test that theory, so I'd avoid that sector for a few days unless you'd like to join him when he inevitably blows himself to kingdom come." The grin quickly returned at a mind warping speed and Ultra Magnus continued as though he wasn't so out of character that Galvatron in a tutu seemed sane.

"Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, after several hours of persistence we were forced to temporarilyI _dismantle/_ Windcharger in order to free him." The twins exchanged a series of unreadable expressions. Ultra Magnus seemed not to notice. "He will make a full recovery…but as you know, Windcharger has been overseeing the close combat training of the new transfers from Cybertron. He will be off of active duty for the next six weeks during rehabilitation, and I find myself in need of replacement instructors."

The mechs were utterly, absolutely speechless. Both looked as though the Universe was ending, Galvatron had just thrown a tea party to celebrate and they'd just received their engraved invitations. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

It was the golden warrior who broke the silence that was buzzing with Ultra Magnus' borderline, self-contained, exhaustion-induced hysteria.

"You…want _us_…to train them? Us? Both of us? Together? In the same place? And with a group of irritating new transfers?" Sunstreaker didn't look convinced that Magnus was altogether serious. After all. He was obviously insane. "Aren't you afraid of a repeat of the _Dromgani_ incident?" Sunstreaker still couldn't even say the species' name without wanting to hurt someone. They'd earned so much brig time for that, that it wasn't even funny. "Now, don't get me wrong, I know I'm the best fighter in the city, but don't you think this is…shall we say, I_wasting/I _my talents? Not to mention the fact that First Aid is going to throw a flying fit when a dozen new recruits come limping on into his med-bay. "

Ultra Magnus resisted the urge to say exactly what was on his mind the moment Sunstreaker started massaging his ego. _If you think that's _wasting_ your talents, wait till you see your punishment._ He reigned himself in with great difficulty.

"I sincerely hope that an episode as bad the Dromgani fiasco _never_ occurs again." He eyed them seriously, for the first time since the start of the conversation. "You're both seasoned warriors. I hope you know what's best for you and manage to keep all tempers and fist fights in check. Am I making myself understood?" Both mechs nodded vigorously. "Good. As for First Aid, I would have thought getting slagged by Ratchet more times than _any_ Decepticon, would have toughened you up enough to face the wrath of one young, impressionable medic."

Sideswipe recovered the majority of his sense before his brother. However, the moment he started talking it all seemed to crash back down into panic and alarm.

"Have you lost your fraggin' mind, Mags? This is insane!! Did Hot Rod put you up to this? I bet he did. Why can't you get Warpath or Cliffjumper to do it? I'm sure they'd jump at the chance to boss around some newbies. Why us?" The red mech seemed desperate, almost hysterical.

Ultra Magnus plucked a data pad from his desk and began skimming its contents. He responded to Sideswipe's frantic questioning with nothing short of his standard deadpan, though he couldn't conceal the playful glint in his optics.

"That's _Rodimus Prime_ to you, battle fodder, and I can assure you, the Prime is far too busy to be bothered with minor trivia such as this. Now, as to your other queries, Warpath is still mourning the new dent in his canon and Cliffjumper actually lived up to his namesake, somehow managing to _jump_ off a cliff while attempting to tackle Skywarp last week." He left out the part where First Aid had pulled a Ratchet and beaten the warrior mech with an assortment of blunt, heavy tools for his stupidity. "Neither are fit for duty at the present moment."

Sideswipe looked confused and defeated while his twin brother, Sunstreaker, looked positively enraged.

Ultra Magnus grinned so broadly that he was sure his face nearly split in half.

"But wait…I haven't even told you what your punishments will be." Ultra Magnus couldn't disguise the joy he was feeling.

"YOU MEAN THAT WASN'T IT!!!?? Sunstreaker shrieked.

* * *

The training hall filled slowly. As far as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were concerned it was almost as though Elita One herself had decided to play the cruellest joke on them and stop time. It was absolutely torturous. The grunts themselves (the ones that arrived on time; both mechs suddenly discovered how irritating that was) looked lost as they entered and found no sign of Windcharger. Muttering amongst themselves they failed to notice Sideswipe's bored expression and Sunstreaker's darkening glances. Anyone on base would tell you that those were _NOT_ a good combination in any event.

Both warrior mechs were obviously, deeply unhappy. However, while Sideswipe was unhappy for the same original reason of 'Chief Time Waster, wasting my personal time', Sunstreaker had discovered a whole new reason to be pissed to the point of barely contained, homicidal urges.

"Windcharger has had these slaggers for the last three weeks. These sorry excuse for mechs are _pathetic_. I mean, I've seen human _sparklings_ with more coordination. Exactly what in Primus' name has he been training them to do? Get killed? Get someone else killed? The way they wander around, they look like they've _only_ just discovered gravity."

Sunstreaker's fingers twitched as he examined the recruits and found them seriously lacking. Sideswipe noted his brothers worsening mood and saw an opportunity to ease his own boredom. He just couldn't resist.

"They might get you killed, bro? They _will_ be the ones watching our afts the next time we wrangle us a few conny, bonny playmates. Maybe this is Windcharger's revenge for spiking that high grade. Maybe this is…Karma." Sideswipe snickered.

Sunstreaker twitched once more in response. It was more a violent, full body jerk than an actual 'twitch', Sideswipe noticed.

"Since when do _you_ believe in Karma, Sides? That's all a load of processor clogging, human garbage. If bad things happened to bad people this war would be over and _we'd_ both be dead."

Sideswipe chuckled.

"You seem to know a bit about it considering it's _'garbage'. I_ happen to think these squishies might be onto something, Sunny. "

Sunstreaker ground out a half felt "Don't call me that" while his brother continued.

"Just think about it. Shit comes back around in the end. Sure, we might like to dish it….but I feel myself an instrument of Karma.

Sunstreaker scoffed, rather loudly as well.

"You _would._ But whatever…it's all slag to me." He turned away from his brother and once more focused on the new transfers.

"Alright, the party's over!!! Get your fragging afts in gear and stand to attention, soldiers!!!!"

Sunstreaker's aggressive command startled the entire room into stillness. No one moved; they were all too shocked and frightened to do anything but stare blankly.

"I said MOVE IT, _NOW!!!!!_" Sunstreaker bellowed.

The mechs ran, well, 'scurried' would an accurate term for the chaotic panicking that ensued. There were collisions galore as Autobots ran into each other in an attempt to form an inspection line. It was obvious to both Sunstreaker and his now attentive brother, that Windcharger had rushed into the role like usual, then lost any enthusiasm he'd originally had. Sunstreaker silently cursed the Warrior's lack of something resembling an actual attention span.

The gold warrior's energon practically bubbled in agitation as he watched mech after mech continue fall about, trip over their own feet and stumble in front of him. He marched towards the increasing line of scratched and dented soldiers.

"Now, I don't know what Windcharger has been doing with you! I don't particularly care, either…_but_…" His optics flared a brighter blue and his mouth pressed into a harsh, sinister line. "THIS HAS TO BE THE MOST PATHETIC DISPLAY OF MILITARY PROCEEDURE, I'VE EVER SEEN. YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE _DISGRACE_ TO THE AUTOBOTS!!!!"

Sideswipe watched all the goings on with renewed interest. He hadn't seen a bunch of new recruits so scared since the days of Ironhide. That old glitch could put the fear of Primus into you with a look. Not just any look, _the_ look. Not to have been confused with Optimus' patented 'uber glare'. He mentally smiled. Ironhide represented a breed of warriors that were almost extinct these days. The kind that fought on till the end, till their bodies were drenched in energon and they could hardly stand. They were the 'shoot first' kind that upon loosing an arm in battle would pick it up and use it as a club.

That was one of his fondest memories of all time. Imagine, looking up to see the 'Hide chasing a Decepticon around the battlefield, brandishing his own severed arm as the primary weapon. While he'd never openly admit it, Sunstreaker, his twin, had actually engraved 'Go chew on a microchip' on Ironhide's memorial plaque. Truthfully, they'd both tormented the old mech, but out of all the Autobots, they respected him the most as a comrade, a soldier and a friend. Sideswipe knew that many of the newer Autobots had seen him as more of a liability, but the fact remained that you couldn't have been safer knowing that Ironhide had been watching your aft.

But they were all dead and gone. Like Optimus, the Hatchet (Primus, no mech had an aim like that. Absolutely unnatural.) and even Prowl had fallen. He'd always thought of them as invincible, indestructible forces. In truth, he'd realized staring at their broken, mangled bodies, that they were every bit as _mortal_ as the rest of them. It gave him a newfound respect for Jazz, who somehow managed to hold up despite the fact that he was one of the only mechs to survive out of all the senior command staff. But they really were legends, every single one of them. From Prowl's incorruptible sense of duty, Ironhide's ability to lose various limbs and still send the 'Cons running for their miserable lives, all the way to Ratchet's wrench throwing and closet partying. Even Red Alert's unfathomable, glitch fuelled paranoia. They were family. Always would be. No one would ever forget them. And as far as he was concerned, Optimus would always be Prime.

Both twins had thought it a joke that someone younger than _Bumblebee _had made it to Prime. It was beyond laughable.

Sideswipe was snatched from his distraction as the limp body of some unnamed, puke green mech sailed over his head and collided with the wall behind him, with a resounding, and rather painful, _clang_.

He spared a glance over his shoulder as the mech tried to drag himself up with a muffled groan. Sideswipe winced as hydraulics whined and the mech collapsed face first to the floor in defeat.

He turned his head back around to find Sunstreaker glaring icy daggers at him.

"What?" Sideswipe quipped.

Sunstreaker crossed his arms and widened his stance. Sideswipe could have sworn he was mimicking Ironhide just then. Whether it was conscious or unconscious, the glare and the posture made him look like Ironhide as he was about to lay into some raw recruit. If he weren't being stared down by the most psychotic of all Autobots _ever_, Sideswipe would have laughed. He knew better though. There were some things he could push with sociopath 'Sunshine', simply because he was his twin, but those who knew Sunstreaker, joked that the only reason he didn't join the Decepticons was because the insignia would clash with his paintjob. Being his twin, Sideswipe knew that that was only one of two very valid reasons.

Sunstreaker relented upon realizing that Sideswipe was daydreaming again and probably had no intention of even attempting to interpret his silent request.

"I need to demonstrate some proper sparring techniques for these…._useless..._ _slagging afts._"

Sunstreaker spat out the last three words as though they were the names of the most hated Decepticons in the Universe. He sounded positively _evil. _Every mech behind him took a step or two backwards.

His twin looked unenthusiastic. Sure Sideswipe was all up for a fight. In fact, usually he would be the first one running head first into the fray but unfortunately today he had plans and he was _definitely_ not gonna come out un-dented when his brother was in this type of mood. 'Carried away' wouldn't even _begin_ to describe how out of hand things could get when they decided to stop pulling their punches.

"Why can't you spar with one of them?" Sideswipe countered.

Sunstreaker pointed over his twins shoulder to the poor mangled heap of a mech that was still face down on the floor and in stasis.

Sideswipe sighed.

"Fine…but leave me the use of my appendages. I'm planning to repaint Magnus' office as a token of our 'gratitude'." He appeared thoughtful. "In fact, your unconscious friend has given me inspiration for the colour."

Sunstreaker smiled momentarily, considering the green against the burnt orange background of Metroplex. The dam gave way and both twins erupted in a chorus of loud, raucous laughter. The mechs that had gathered round (at a safe distance) put just a few more steps between them and the twins.

First Aid was going to be busy today. Very busy.


End file.
